


Three Words, Eight Letters

by themalfoymanner



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Post-Hogwarts, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 00:23:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5890882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themalfoymanner/pseuds/themalfoymanner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Although he feels it with his whole heart, Draco still struggles to say those three little words to Harry</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Words, Eight Letters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [icanhelpyouthere](https://archiveofourown.org/users/icanhelpyouthere/gifts).



> For my sweet Hannah, who is made of sunshine, pixie dust, and fire, and always gives me hope and makes me smile. I love you so much, even if I don’t say it enough

Harry told him all the time.

When Draco smudged ink on his cheek while he was working. When Draco was grumpy and bleary-eyed in the morning, his hair a disaster and his features still softened with sleep. When Draco complained about how Harry folded their clothes and shooed him away, grumbling and spelling their shirts into crisp, precise squares. When Draco pulled Harry into his arms after Harry woke up sweating and trembling, his grip tight but his kisses gentle. When Draco surprised him in between classes by shoving Harry into his chair, crawling under his desk, and blowing him so thoroughly that Harry couldn’t stand for several minutes afterwards. When Draco was mewling underneath him, scratching down his back and writhing as Harry moved inside him, his thrusts relentless and dizzying but somehow still gentle. Always that.

Harry told him all the time.

And no matter how often he heard it, it never failed to make Draco’s chest tighten. He couldn’t figure out _why_ it had this effect on him. It shouldn’t. It’s only three words. Eight letters. And people use this phrase constantly: after a friend makes them laugh, to thank a stranger for their kindness, to make a family member smile. It can’t have the same meaning for everyone, not when it’s used so carelessly. Really, it shouldn’t matter. 

But it matters to Draco.

Draco can’t quite explain how the words make him feel, the way they blaze through him like wildfire, setting him aflame. How he clutches onto them and uses them as an anchor when the dark thoughts return, trusting them to guide him home. How they make him feel safe, safer than he’s ever felt before. How they make him trust.

Despite all this, Draco hasn’t said it back.

He doesn’t think he has to; after all, actions should speak louder than words. Words can deceive, can be bent and fashioned into weapons. They are insubstantial, especially for communicating something as potent as this. So Draco tries to _show_ Harry how he feels. Every time he prepares Harry’s tea for him in the morning, or carefully slips off Harry’s glasses before bed, or kisses the furrow between Harry’s brows, he’s saying it. It’s there when their bodies come together, in those breathless moments where they are no longer separate people but are one being subsisting only on ecstatic bliss and biting pleasure, one who wants _more_ and _harder_ and _closer_. It shows in the way Draco lets his walls come crashing down around Harry, how he trusts Harry to see that raw, ugly, gnarled part of himself that’s all cowardice and fear and hatred, knowing that it won’t change how Harry feels about him, how it will only make Harry cherish the gentler parts of him all the more. Every smile, every brush of his fingers and lips against Harry’s skin, every slide of his tongue and nip of his teeth, is a silent confession. 

And Harry knows. Draco can see it when Harry hums happily as Draco straightens his tie, when Harry asks Draco for advice about his lesson plans and then smiles indulgently as Draco starts ranting about the inadequacies of their own education. Draco can tell by the way Harry’s eyes mist with tears when Draco pushes inside of him, how he how surrenders completely to the sensation, his black hair fanning out on the sheets as he rocks against Draco, so beautiful and uninhibited that Draco feels bowled over with gratitude. This gorgeous, powerful, loving man is _his_ , and Draco wants- _needs_ \- to do everything he can to make him happy.

And he does. 

His feelings don’t need to be spoken out loud to be true, to be real.

But one afternoon, after Harry suggests they go to the nearby park, Draco’s watching Harry as he lies out on the grass, his eyes closed, long lashes curling against his cheekbones and lips bowed into a small smile as the sun bathes him in a warm glow, and Draco can’t hold it in anymore. Harry looks so _free_ , still and peaceful in a way that makes Draco’s heart stutter, because this is all Draco wants for him- to let go, to just _be_ , without expectations or fear. Never that, not now.

Before his brain catches up with him, Draco’s lips are forming a particular combination of words that he’s never said before: _I love you._ Harry’s eyes fly open, locking on Draco’s as he pushes himself up off the ground. He searches Draco’s face for a long moment before his face splits into a wide, exuberant grin, so beautiful that it’s almost painful to witness. “I know.” He tackles Draco to the ground, kissing every inch of his face as his hands slip underneath Draco’s shirt to grip his waist, encouraging Draco to arch against him. Their lips meet almost instinctively, drawn to each other by a magic older than time. When they break apart to catch their breath, Harry gasps, “I love you too, Draco.” And even though Draco knows this, has heard it countless times, it still makes his blood sing and his heart soar to have his wild, breathless, ineffable love returned.

And Draco realizes then that even though it doesn’t _have_ to be said, it still should be. Because this feeling is too powerful, too transformative not to be shared.


End file.
